What He Wants
by lastcrazyhorn
Summary: When a serial rapist attacks a naval petty officer, the BAU suddenly finds themselves sharing their case with a team from the NCIS. Three shot. Almost PWP. Slash. All the good stuff. Gibbs/Hotch
1. Sharing

**Summary: **When a serial rapist attacks a naval petty officer, the BAU suddenly finds themselves sharing their case with a team from the NCIS. Two shot. Almost PWP. Slash. All the good stuff. :) Gibbs/Hotch

**_A/N -_**_ My first crossover AND my first NCIS fic. How's that for a pair of firsts? _

**Chapter 1 - Sharing**

"Harold Garza, Angelique Mantee, Richard Johnson, Juanita Delgado and Katherine Roberts have all been assaulted over the course of the past six months. Other than having ties to D.C. and being more or less the same age, there doesn't seem to be any connection between them. Harold Garza is a lawyer, Angelique a gardener, Richard a plumber, Juanita a flight attendant, and—."

"And Katherine Roberts a naval petty officer," Gibbs said, interrupting the steady stream of words being issued from the mouth of the dark haired FBI man.

"I take it you must be Special Agent Gibbs?" Hotch asked, looking at the meeting's late arrival.

"Yep, that's me," Gibbs answered with an easy grin. "And you are?"

"SSA Hotchner," Hotch answered with a stiff nod.

"Heard stories about you," Gibbs said as he went to find a seat beside the rest of his team in the BAU's conference room.

For a moment, Hotch paused and the corner of his mouth lifted a hair. "The same could be said for you as well," he said with another nod.

Then things were back to business as the subordinates from both teams surreptitiously eyed each of their respective bosses.

. . .

Hotchner was with Gibbs at his desk in NCIS going over Lieutenant Robert's paperwork when suddenly Gibbs leaned back in his chair and looked up at him thoughtfully.

"You always wear a tie?"

Hotch paused in his perusal of the file before him and turned his head towards the other man. "Most of the time," he answered with a touch of amusement in his tone.

After a pause, they went back to work.

. . .

Some hours later, Hotch felt someone shaking his arm. He fought his way back to consciousness and sat up in his chair with a barely suppressed groan. Looking around, he realized he was still at NCIS, and beside him was a tired looking Gibbs.

"You planning on sleepin' here?"

He yawned and cracked his neck to the right. "Not really. Jack—my son—he's at his grandparents this week. And my wife . . ." he trailed off. It shouldn't be this hard to talk about her, three years after her death.

Gibbs just looked at him, waiting for him to speak. He wasn't pushing for Hotch to give more than he give, and he appreciated that.

"She was murdered by an unsub three years ago," he finally managed in a soft voice.

He waited for the usual commiserating drivel he'd heard more times than he could count, but it didn't come.

"Come over to my place for a drink then," Gibbs answered instead, giving Hotch a surprisingly strong hand up.

And in a fit of spontaneity, Hotch agreed.

. . .

He looked at the boat in Gibbs' cellar with awe, his empty mug of bourbon forgotten on the table behind him as he trailed his fingers over her keel.

"This is nice work," Hotch breathed appreciatively.

He didn't see the smile Gibbs answered with, but he could feel the warmth in the man's tone as he thanked him softly.

When he finally made it back to his mug, he found it freshly filled and he looked at Gibbs with a raised eyebrow.

"You know, you could use this stuff for motor oil if you got desperate."

Gibbs grinned wide and walked over to him. "How do you know I haven't?"

"I haven't drunk like this since before—," but his throat wouldn't work and after a moment he glanced away in embarrassment.

"Since before she died," Gibbs finished for him after another swallow of his own drink. He nodded. "Yeah, I get that," he said softly.

. . .

The room swayed around them as Gibbs made him loop his arm over his shoulders and he half walked, half carried him back up the stairs.

"I don't think I'll be driving home," Hotch said with a grin.

"Nope," Gibbs answered, maneuvering him into a bedroom and dumping him not so gracefully on the bed.

"Is this your bed?" Hotch blinked at the twisting room and cocked his head, leaning to the side.

"Yup," Gibbs answered, quickly divesting him of his tie before going to work on his shirt buttons.

"Wait, but where're you going to sleep?" Hotch slurred, looking delightfully bewildered.

"Here, unless you have a problem?" Gibbs said, pulling Hotch's white dress shirt off and reaching for his t-shirt. It was summertime after all.

"Wait," Hotch shook his head, pulling back from the other man. "Not my shirt." Something shifted in his eyes, allowing Gibbs to see a flash of fear, and then the moment was gone.

"Okay, not your shirt," he agreed simply enough, kneeling down in front of the other man and pulling his shoes off, before undoing his slacks with a quick snap and opening the zipper. Hotch helpfully chose that moment to fall backwards onto the bed, and Gibbs grabbed either side of his slacks and pulled them off quickly and efficiently. He tossed them and the shirt over a chair, and then as an afterthought leant over and pulled off the other man's socks.

Now Hotch was dressed only in a simple white undershirt and a pair of dark blue boxers. Seeing that his dark haired companion was nearly unconscious, Gibbs allowed himself a private moment to look over the figure spread out before him. Hotchner was covered in dark hair from his toes to head, and Gibbs suddenly felt an almost undeniable urge to reach out and pet it. Shaking his head in amusement at himself, he pulled off his own shirt and dropped his trousers to the floor where he stood.

After taking off his own socks, he was left only in a pair of black boxer briefs. He climbed into his bed, carefully maneuvering himself over the nearly asleep form laid out in the middle.

"You still awake there, Hotchner?" He asked, shaking the man's arm again.

"Hotch," his companion grunted, turning his head to look blearily up at Gibbs.

"Here, you're all turned around," Gibbs answered, helping him to slide under the covers beside him.

Stretching across Hotch's prone form, he twisted the switch on the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Leaning back in the bed, he turned on his side towards Hotch and briefly touched his hand to the other man's shoulder.

"You need anything, wake me up," he informed him in a gruff voice.

"Sure mom," Hotch said wryly in a deep voice, and then he turned on his side too and pushed his back into Gibbs' chest.

Jethro's eyebrows raised and he hesitantly draped his arm over Hotch's chest in response.

"Night, then."


	2. Arrest

**Chapter 2** **– Arrest**

The first thing Hotch was aware of the next morning was the pounding of his head. Barely keeping a groan of discomfort in, he opened his eyes and squinted at the room around him. That was when he realized that he wasn't at home in his own bed.

"Gibbs?" He asked, finally noticing the warm body spooned up behind his own.

A shift and then a grunt that sounded somewhat like, "G'morning" was his response.

"You got any Advil around?"

"Second drawer," Gibbs said in a low voice just behind his ear.

If he hadn't felt so bad, he would have shivered in appreciation at the feel of that mouth breathing so softly next to his head.

Instead, he rummaged blindly in the drawer before finally finding the right bottle. Popping the cap off, he took out and dry swallowed two of the little pills, and then leaned back into the warmth at the center of the bed.

Slightly more awake now, Hotch finally noticed that there was a hand gently stroking his arm. That same hand dropped down onto his stomach and gave his chest a brief caress before trailing down to the top of his boxers.

Swallowing hard at the implications of that motion, Hotch turned back towards the man behind him and asked the next important question. "Coffee?"

. . .

As it turned out, Garcia and Abby were the ones who figured out the connection between the victims. At first they had each been a bit wary of one another, but the longer they spent in cyberspace together, the better they worked together.

"Woah. Slow down Abs," Gibbs was standing in front of her with his hands on her shoulders, Agent Hotchner standing silently beside him as he tried to make sense of what she was telling him.

Abby took a deep breath and then explained what their findings meant. "We traced them back and figured out that all of the victims thus far were all part of the same first grade class."

"How big a class?"

"There were twenty originally. And aside from the five victims so far, there are only six living in D.C. that haven't been targeted yet."

"Thanks Abs," Gibbs whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to the girl's forehead and then heading out the door with Hotchner.

"We'll split up. Send protection details to the women with at least one from either of our teams and then send the others to go after the bastard who's been doing this," Gibbs rattled off to the group of BAU and NCIS agents that surrounded him after they were back upstairs.

Somehow he and Hotch ended up going to the home of a Mr. Arthur McBivens on their own. Something about the house and the quietness of the neighborhood surrounding it unnerved both men, and without discussing it, they both drew their guns as they approached the front porch.

"I'll take the back," Hotch said in a soft voice as he spied a side gate leading presumably to a backyard.

"Arthur McBivens," Gibbs called out after knocking and receiving no response. "I'm a federal agent. I need you to open the door and come out with your hands up!"

Hearing something rustle inside, Gibbs made a choice and hastily kicked in the door, coming face to face with a man with a baseball bat.

"Freeze McBivens!" He growled, pointing his gun towards the other man.

Something crashed at the back of the house and McBivens used the distraction as an opportunity to throw himself at Gibbs.

. . .

The back door was open, and Hotch had slipped into the house quietly, only to come face to face with an old woman wearing a tatty worn out housedress. She gasped and her eyes went wide at the sight of him.

"I'm a federal agent, ma'am. I'm not going to hurt you," he said in a clear voice.

Still not speaking, the woman grabbed the iron skillet from where it had been sitting atop the stove and with a great heave she threw it at him. He dodged it easily enough, but it hit the ground with a loud bang.

_Probably alerting McBivens and everyone in the neighborhood of our presence, _he thought in annoyance.

And that's when the woman pulled a wicked looking butcher knife out her pocket and began swinging it in the air as she rushed at him.

She was a tough little thing; Hotch had to give her that. His vest saved him from the brunt of her attack, but then she kicked viciously him in the knee and he fell sideways.

"Fuck!" He yelled out as a white hot pain lanced through his right arm. Old woman or not, this lady was going down _now._

. . .

McBivens was handcuffed and out cold in the floor of the living room when Gibbs finally managed to get away to check on Hotch. He got there just in time to see him slapping handcuffs on a little old woman laying face down on the floor of the kitchen. It was only when Hotch staggered to his feet that he saw the blood spreading outward from a section of his upper arm.

"Hell," he cussed, starting forwards and grabbing the first towel he saw and pressing it tightly down around the other man's arm.

"That's mine!" The old woman screeched from where she was bound on the floor.

Hotch shot him an exasperated look and he looked down and barked out, "Shut up!" to the old bitch.

Gibbs waited until some of Hotch's people showed up before shoving the man in his own car and sliding himself into the driver's seat.

"It's just a scratch," Hotch argued from beside him, the blood now oozing past the soaked rag he still had pressed against his arm.

"Uh huh," he answered with a frown, grabbing the other man's keys from his pocket and starting the ignition before peeling out into the street.

"Where are we going?" Hotch asked when they missed the turn to the hospital.

"Takin' you to Ducky. He's our M.E. Figured you didn't like docs much," he said, raising a challenging eyebrow at his passenger.

Hotch ruefully shook his head. "Not much," he agreed, leaning back to rest against the headrest.

. . .

"Now my boy," Ducky said to the dark haired man sitting on the table before him, "Don't move while I cut this shirt off of you."

An almost imperceptible wince came from the federal agent and Ducky flicked his eyes towards Jethro, who was standing silently at his side.

"Maybe you should leave," he said to his friend in a soft voice.

Jethro nodded and turned to go when the other man spoke. "No, stay," dark eyes directed themselves at blindingly blue ones in silent entreaty.

"Right," Ducky said slowly, eyeing the men around him warily. "This won't hurt a bit, unless you're the shirt," he said, giving his dark haired patient a brief smile.

It didn't take much longer to get the t-shirt off, and then it became readily apparent why the other had hesitated at the idea of exposing himself.

. . .

Staring straight ahead, Hotch didn't flinch as Ducky cleaned and stitched up his wounds. However, after some uncomfortable silence had passed, he found himself opening his mouth and speaking about where the majority of the scars had come from.

"I was attacked by an . . . unsub in my own home," he said slowly, seeing that he had fully caught the attention of Gibbs and Ducky with his unlikely admission.

He paused, waiting to see if either would interrupt him, but when neither did, he took a deep breath and continued.

"He had been laying in wait for me. Earlier that year, we had been forced to put m-my wife and son in protective custody because of the threats he had made against them and me. He called himself, 'The Reaper.'"

A hand lightly touched his uninjured shoulder and he looked over at Jethro in silent misery.

"Was he the one that—?" Jethro began, only to be cut off with a hasty nod.

"He killed my wife."

"Good heavens," Ducky breathed in commiseration from where he was finishing up with Hotch's arm.

"Where is he now?" Jethro's voice was oddly strained to his ears.

"Dead. I—I killed him," he admitted, tightening his jaw against the rush of memory that flooded his brain with those words.

"Good," Jethro's answered roughly, squeezing his shoulder gently.

"He was going to kill my son," he added in a whisper, dropping his head. "I couldn't let him kill my son."


	3. Success

**Chapter 3** **– Success**

"Remember to keep your right arm dry! You are not to get those stitches wet!" Ducky called out to the backs of Hotch and Gibbs as they left the morgue.

"Listen," Gibbs said once they had gotten on the elevator. "Why don't you come to my place for a few days?"

Jack wouldn't be back for nearly another week, and he knew from previous experience that showering one armed was a bitch and a half.

"Going to help me with my arm?" Hotch asked with a rare grin.

"Or more," Gibbs grinned back, nodding his head to the side with an amused expression.

After stopping by Hotch's apartment to pick up a few things, they headed for Gibbs' house, only stopping once more to pick up some pizza for dinner.

. . .

_There was no doubt about it,_ Jethro thought as he looked at Hotch from over the top of his beer bottle. _He's damn good looking._

The urge to pet the other man was back again and without warning, Jethro suddenly found himself on his feet, holding out a hand to his dark haired companion.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he suggested with an easy smile.

"Are you suggesting I smell?" Hotch answered, pretending to be affronted as he allowed Gibbs to haul him up.

They were standing chest to chest now, and Jethro didn't try to stifle the shiver of appreciation that went through his body at their proximity.

"I think you smell pretty good," he answered in a rough voice, his right hand reaching out and stroking a line down the front of Hotch's cloth covered chest. "Come on," he added, regretfully turning his body away and taking the lead to the bathroom.

Once there, he carefully helped Hotch remove the NCIS t-shirt that Ducky had oh-so-helpfully provided them after cutting off his other. The other man's hesitation at exposing his chest was still there, but Jethro was determined to help him get over the fear.

He leant over and touched his lips to one of the bigger scars, not waiting to see how Hotch would react, and slowly licked it. He felt, more than heard, Hotch's gasp and he smiled, dropping into a kneeling position before him.

"I've n-not done this before," was the quiet admission spoken above him.

_Not with a man_, Hotch didn't say, but Gibbs could hear nonetheless in his tone.

"I won't hurt you," Jethro promised in just as soft a voice, reaching and carefully undoing the belt in front of him. He pulled it off gently and then slowly undid the button at the top of the slacks, pulling the zipper down slowly.

An important bulge presented itself under those same blue boxers as he eased Hotch's pants down over his hips, indicating softly when he should lift his feet to pull them off completely. He removed dark black socks next and finally he moved back up to look at the tented boxers before him.

"Aren't you a bit overdressed now?" A mostly naked Hotch asked him, a flush creeping down his face.

"You could say that," he grinned, pulling his polo shirt and undershirt off simultaneously. With a hasty snap, he quickly pulled his jeans off, taking his socks with them, leaving him kneeling on the floor in only in dark navy boxer briefs.

"Better?" He looked up at Hotch and found him staring intently down, his hands twitching as though he secretly longed to reach out and touch Jethro's body.

"Much," Hotch ground out in a deep voice, his eyes unblinking.

Jethro reached out and rubbed the back of his hand lightly across the front of Hotch's boxers, inwardly delighting as the stoic man above him let out a soft hiss at his actions.

"I wasn't aware that you liked to tease," Hotch managed in a shaky voice, rubbing a calloused hand down the side of Jethro's face. He turned his face into those fingers and caught one lightly in his teeth, drawing his tongue across its tip and getting another gasp for his efforts.

Releasing it, he turned back to the presentation before him. Gently he touched the top edge of Hotch's underwear and then slowly drew them down; pulling forwards slightly to avoid catching the elastic on his half-interested cock. Again, he reached out a hand and ghosted his fingers over the front of his shaft, but this time he didn't stop there. Leaning forwards a bit and spreading his own legs as he did, he curled his fingers around the tip and brought it to his lips.

Hotch's left hand touched his shoulder and grabbed a hold on him as he maneuvered his cock into his mouth.

"Holy—!" Hotch bit out in a strangled voice as Jethro moved his mouth further on his shaft, and then without warning, he sucked hard on it, swirling his tongue along the underside.

The other man's eyes were clenched tightly now as he panted out harsh breaths through clenched teeth. With a soft POP, Jethro released his now straining cock and gingerly made it to his feet.

"You okay?" He asked, cupping his hand around the side of Hotch's face.

A hasty nod was his only response and he smiled before moving away to fiddle at the water taps on the shower. After getting the water to an acceptable temperature, he quickly left the room and grabbed one of the plastic bags Ducky had given them to cover Hotch's arm. When he returned, he was pleased to see that the other man's erection had not diminished one iota in the short time he was gone.

However, Hotch's eyes were finally open again, and he could nearly feel the heat from the steady gaze he was receiving from those dark eyes. Without speaking, he wrapped the plastic around Hotch's injured right arm, and then carefully guided him into the tub.

. . .

He felt a bit ridiculous leaving his right arm sticking outside the shower curtain while his left hand curled around his straining cock, but that feeling quickly dissipated after a very naked Jethro climbed in the shower with him.

"Feeling dirty too?" He quipped lightly, his breath catching in his throat as the man looked up and down his naked form, a predatory gleam evident in his blue eyes.

"You could say that," Jethro answered, leaning in close and catching his lower lip between his teeth, sucking it into his mouth hard.

Somehow, he managed to let go of his cock and bring it up to grasp around the back of Jethro's wet neck, pulling him into a real kiss. The other man's chest was even with his own, and he could feel a hard cock poking him in the abdomen. It was all very new to him, but yet that was okay. Their mouths were hard and wet where they joined, and Jethro's tongue was very insistently trying to wrestle with his own.

He leant back to catch a breath and felt him panting against his cheek as well. There was something nice about not have to worry about hurting Jethro, like he had to with Haley. She had been so tiny compared to him, but he didn't have to worry about that now.

With that thought in mind, he squeezed his neck and pulled him back down, latching his mouth onto his tongue and sucking it into his mouth. Jethro's hands braced themselves on either side of his head and he released his hold of his neck to slide it down and hesitantly grab one muscular buttock. In turn, Jethro insistently ground his erection against Hotch's stomach, letting go a deep groan into his mouth as he did.

With more control that he would have been able to muster, Jethro chose that moment to step backwards into the hot spray, removing his body from Hotch's current reach. The sound of panting breaths filled his ears and it took him a moment to realize that those sounds were coming from him. Just then, Jethro reached behind his body and picked up something he couldn't see.

"Don't want to make me a liar," Jethro managed in a hoarse voice, looking just as turned on as he felt.

Jethro brought his hand forwards and he saw that the older man was holding a washcloth and a thin bar of soap. The soap had obviously been used before; Jethro simply wasn't the kind of man to open a new soap bar just for some hot shower sex. At the thought, Hotch grinned again, stepping forwards into the spray of the water to rub his left hand across Jethro's closest nipple. He silently wondered where exactly that bar of soap had been and what it had seen since being opened.

Jethro washed his body with sure and steady strokes, taking care around his bruised side, and gently working the washcloth around the ticklish spots under his arms. Then he directed Hotch to step forwards while he stepped out of the way, and let the warm water rinse off the leftover soap.

"Turn around," Jethro whispered in his ear and he cocked his head to the side, glancing at his plastic covered arm in askance. "Put it on the wall in front of you; the spray won't touch it."

Hotch turned around and did as instructed, putting his hands on the wall in front of him and stood still as the other man carefully washed his back. His head was now resting against the wall as well, as the touches were only adding fuel to the fire still burning in his gut. Finally, Jethro stepped out of the way and let the water wash over his back. Hotch attempted to straighten up and turn back around, but a weathered hand on his shoulder stopped him and he silently put his head back down against the wall.

He risked a glance back and nearly came right there on the spot. Jethro was kneeling behind him now and—_oh god_. He was spreading his cheeks, a wet leg nudging in-between his ankles, silently telling him to open his legs more as his tongue dipped into his asshole. Hotch let out a deep seated groan at the overwhelming sensations being wrung from the simple touch, and without thinking about it, he pushed himself down farther onto the other man's mouth.

Gibbs' slick muscle was working its way in and out of his asshole, sending waves of feeling charging through his cock and balls. Convulsively, he could feel his fingers clenching and unclenching between the wall and his body, echoing his rectum as it fluttered and tensed around the tongue wedging itself deeper and deeper into him.

"Jethro," he rasped out finally, just as he felt his knees and thighs begin to tremble from the strain of keeping him upright.

The tongue left his ass and he didn't know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or cry at the loss. He settled for simple breathing, although god knew that was difficult enough for the moment. Behind him, he could hear Jethro standing up and then the sound of a shampoo bottle being snapped open. By the time he managed to turn around, Jethro was finished rinsing his hair and was coming at his head for the same thing.

He sagged as the other man turned him around, and Jethro simply propped him up on his chest as he finished washing his hair. His plastic covered arm was caught in-between their bodies as Gibbs' patiently rinsed his hair. Then before he quite knew what was happening, he heard the water turn off and he was suddenly standing outside the tub as Jethro hurriedly toweled them both dry.

. . .

Gibbs was pleased at the glassy eyed expression now present on Hotch's face. He removed the plastic sleeve and dropped it into the wastebasket, and then gently took his arm and led him naked back to his bedroom. Pulling the covers back, he dumped Hotch into the middle of the bed and then climbed back over him, straddling his still interested body with his own silver haired one.

"Ready to sleep, yet?" He asked, driving his cock back down into the soft fuzz of Hotch's stomach. The man underneath him twitched upwards hard, and some of the focus came back into his eyes.

"Not quite," was Hotch's answer, his hands going up to roughly tweak Jethro's nipples.

It was his turn to lean his head back and groan. The feeling of those fingers on his sensitive nubs was sending bolts of electricity straight down into his cock, and he rolled his hips again as his nerves continued to flutter in his groin.

Gritting his teeth, he batted those wonderful fingers off of his chest and leaned back over him, attaching his lips to the side of his neck and sucking hard. Hotch was writhing under him, his legs attempting to spread despite being trapped by Gibbs' muscular thighs on either side.

Letting go of his neck, he raised his mouth to the other man's ear and whispered, "I want to fuck you."

Hotch's body trembled hard at his words, but he didn't tell him no. He took that as an encouragement, without another word, he reached over to his bedside table and pulled out the top drawer. He hastily grabbed the lube and a condom and then with a slam, he closed it and pulled back to lick the side of Hotch's face.

"Got an opinion on that?" He whispered, his mouth back next to his ear, even as his lower half continued to rub itself against Hotch's body.

Hotch's hand came up to touch his face and once more he had dark eyes burning a hole through his head. "Okay," he nodded shakily, "You can."

"I meant it when I told you I wouldn't hurt you," Gibbs breathed once more into his ear and then sat up to look at him.

"Side is most comfortable for beginners—," he started, only to be interrupted.

"I want to be able to look at you," Hotch demanded, a low growl suffusing his words.

"Okay," he answered with a shrug; grabbing a pillow and shoving it under the other man's hips.

Following that, he picked up the lube and poured a generous amount into his hand. Rubbing it between his hands, he liberally coated one finger and then without further ado, he moved so he could spread Hotch's legs, bending them at the knees. It opened him up deliciously and Gibbs leaned back over to suckle at his neck again as he slowly inserted one finger into the dark heat at the base of his spine.

The one finger slid in easily enough thanks to the tongue fucking he gave his hole earlier, but two fingers were tight when he added another a moment later. Hotch's breath hitched, but he didn't say anything, causing Gibbs to stop his attentions on his neck and lift his head to look at him. His mouth was open, but when he crooked his fingers inside of him, his face spasmed while his cock strained dark against his belly.

"Good?"

Hotch swallowed hard and nodded, dark eyes staring up at him trustingly.

He added another finger and slowly stretched his hole further, watching Hotch's face for telltale signs of pain. He gasped again, but when Gibbs didn't see him wince or freeze in discomfort, he figured he was okay. A moment later, he removed his fingers and quickly opened the condom, rolling it on with shaking fingers. His patience was gone as he rubbed his lube slick hand over his erection and lined himself up.

"I need you," Jethro choked out as he sunk slowly into the heated body under him. He brought his clean hand up and wrapped around Hotch's shoulder, gripping the muscle hard as he surrounded himself with the other man's tight cavity.

"I want this too," Hotch admitted, his voice strained as he tried to get used to the incredibly full feeling now present in his gut.

Finally sheathed fully, he leaned in further and sucked Hotch's earlobe into his mouth, pushing it against the roof of his mouth and then scraping his teeth against it gently as it slid from his lips.

Their chests heaved against one another as he inadvertently shifted his position.

"You can move now," Hotch whispered roughly, his fingers gripping against his shoulders.

He smiled and looked at the other man's face carefully to see if he was truly okay, only moving when he decided he was.

The slow slide out was almost as incredible as the slide back in, and after a bit, he hesitantly began moving faster. Reaching out with hard fingers, he rubbed his thumb over one of Hotch's nipples as he moved, feeling pleased to hear another gasp.

"Like that?" He rubbed harder, going so far as to pinch a bit as he picked up the pace. He brought his mouth down to bite his teeth into that same nipple, his arms pushing Hotch's legs up near his chest as he did.

Hotch shuddered hard under him and threw his head back with an almost pained sounding, "Jethro," making it past his lips as he did.

He bit harder in response, really ploughing into his ass now, feeling Hotch's rectum pulse around his cock, making him groan out around the small red nub in his teeth. Finally letting go of his nipple, he reached under Hotch's shoulders with his hands and pulled him up closer to his body, bending him hard and making him feel the stretch through his spine as he fucked him deep.

Hotch's cock was rubbing insistently against his chest and he let out a moan at the lack of friction.

"Touch me, Jethro, touch me," he half-groaned, half-ordered him.

Letting go of a shoulder, he did as he was commanded and grabbed a hold of the other man's angry weeping cock, stroking it furiously as he continued to pound into his body. The sweat was moving across their bodies steadily, their hair wet with it. Hotch was gasping rhythmically under him as he made him take it.

His hands tangled in Gibbs' arms, pulling him ever closer, ever tighter and he knew that Hotch had to be feeling incredible, if the look on his face was any indication. The worry lines were briefly absent, and there was a blazing power of _want_ and _need_ in his eyes instead.

The body he was fucking suddenly tightened up hard around him and he shuddered out a low whine. Then, Hotch was coming hard, his body jerking up, straining against the hold he had him in, and he was gibbering meaningless words in Jethro's ears as he did.

He was close, and so without abandon he sped up the speed of his thrusts, taking pleasure in how disconnected Hotch now seemed and a few moments later, he felt the intoxicating rush push out from his belly and pulse outward into every joint. He collapsed forwards as he came, sliding easily over Hotch's dripping body as he fell.

For a moment, they only gasped out their breaths to one another and then very gently, he slowly slid out of Hotch and pulled off the used condom, tossing it and the empty foil package in the trash next to the bed.

"Don't move," he managed to say, as he wearily pulled himself up and went to the bathroom for a wet washcloth.

"Not—Not a problem," a close eyed Hotch managed to answer him when he came back to clean him up.

Then, tossing the washcloth on the floor beside the bed, he slowly pulled the sheet up around their bodies and leaned over to turn out the bedside lamp. He collapsed back down into warm darkness and possessively wrapped his arms around the other man.

"Night Hotch," he whispered in the tired man's ear.

"Night Jethro," Hotch mumbled, pulling his legs up and pushing farther into his embrace.

In the darkness, he smiled to himself and then closed his eyes.

* * *

**_A/N - _**_Sooo . . . what'd ya think?_


End file.
